


Matt Cohen is Superman's Alter Ego

by Ebyru



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crack, Humor, In Public, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt likes dancing, everyone knew that much. But Misha never knew just quite how much until he gave a Brazilian fan a run for her money during their convention</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matt Cohen is Superman's Alter Ego

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by kimberlelly @ lj.  
> Drinking, frottage, public interaction and a whole lot of crack.  
> If you like this pairing too, feel free to send me ideas.

Matt likes dancing, everyone knew that much. But Misha never knew just quite _how much_ until he gave a Brazilian fan a run for her money during their convention. Sure, Matt lacked some of the technique she had, but he made up for it with sheer effort and willingness. And sex appeal. A lot of it.

At first, Misha was just watching the fan, trying to make sure he did exactly the opposite of what she instructed—to please the fans, of course. But once Matt’s shoulders started shrugging, and his hips followed in the same loose, comfortable way, Misha lost complete sight of the girl in the flowery dress.

No one could tear their eyes away, not even her. Or maybe especially her.

And, of course, Matt stopped because he felt the eyes gawking, felt self-conscious. He probably thought everyone was staring, and filming, and most likely going to poke fun later. But even Misha couldn’t find it in himself to tease and tell him how _awful_ it was—even though it most definitely wasn’t—because Misha was suddenly entranced, taken by his young and energetic co-star.

It’s not like they didn’t _all_ know how amazing Matt’s body was—he sure as hell took off his shirt enough times for them to be aware of that—but Misha needs a bit more than just a pretty face (or body in this case) to be impressed with anyone. He likes sustenance. He likes a challenge. He likes character—maybe that most of all. And Matt proved to Misha that he had those things (in abundance really). But Matt also has this shine, this glow about him that makes it hard not to try and be around him. That samba was simply what cemented Misha’s impression of him.

Misha’s goal for the rest of their time in Brazil is to make him dance again. He figures all he needs is the right environment, the right music and the right amount of alcohol, and he’ll be all set for his private show provided by a certain Matt Cohen.

~~~~~

When their panel ends, Matt and Misha wave at Chad as he zigzags down the hall. Matt is already about to return to his room so Misha grabs his shoulder gently and squeezes. Obviously, it’s to get his attention, not to sneak in a feel.

“You, me, karaoke? My treat,” Misha punctuates the offer with a soft smile, one so unfitting for the thoughts running laps in his mind.

“Sure,” Matt says in his usual easygoing manner. Nothing seems to dampen the guy’s mood; it’s refreshing. “I’ll just go upstairs and change. Those spotlights really make me sweat. Meet you back here?”

“Take your time,” Misha answers, the same false smile in place. Too bad Matt didn’t know him well enough to see through the front.

~~~~~

Fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds later, Matt is sparkling clean in a black t-shirt and dark jeans. Misha has to forcefully keep his gaze above shoulder level not to give away his plan before it even comes to fruition. It’s really not right how attractive the cast of Supernatural is. Misha has had enough crushes on this show alone to last a lifetime.

“Ready!” Matt beams, rubbing his palms together. “So where you taking me, kind sir?”

“I heard about some obscure, but amazing Karaoke place not too far from here. And, apparently, it’s got private rooms.” Misha starts walking to the elevator, “I know I’ve had enough public attention for today. Haven’t you?”

Matt hums in agreement, tucking his shirt in his pants as he follows Misha into the elevator. “Sounds good to me.”

Misha never had problems with elevators before. Not when he only had a dozen floors to chime past before he reached solid ground. But Matt seems to make _everything_ hard for Misha.

Suddenly, Matt’s too close and too far. The metal sides of the lift make Misha feel like he’s fenced in, trapped with a man who is spontaneous and funny, extremely hot, definitely straight, and even more so married. Misha just wanted to see a bit more dancing (and maybe join in a bit), not jump his bones in an empty elevator. He feels like he’s hyperventilating, but Matt isn’t reacting, just standing there quietly with his hands—

The anxiety passes as quickly as it came on once he spots the bag in Matt’s possession.

“Present for me?” Misha says, though he wasn’t just having an inner panic attack, “You shouldn’t have.”

Matt looks at Misha, then, follows Misha’s eyes down to his fingers, “I’m a nice guy. What can I say.”

Misha spends the rest of the way down wondering what exactly Matt is bringing along. Maybe it really is a present. But Misha’s just treating him to free singing and booze—for his own purposes. Or maybe it’s an early slash late birthday present now that they have actually been in the same room for more than a few minutes. If Misha wasn’t feeling ( _slightly)_ guilty before, he _might_ be now.

~~~~~~

Matt slips away to a bathroom in the back while Misha pays at the front for four hours of singing time; you never know how long Matt can last. Misha fights back the innuendo behind the thought and the ridiculous ‘that’s what she said’ joke.

That’s what she said.

The place is mostly empty; it’s 8pm in the middle of the week, of course it’s empty. Misha takes a room far enough from the front door to avoid disturbing the other patrons, and asks if the clerk can tell _the young man_ when he comes out of the bathroom where Misha is.

For a moment, Misha thinks he’s doing something wrong again. It feels like he’s taking an under-aged kid out to a strip club. But that really doesn’t make sense. Matt is anything but a kid, not with those hips, those eyes, those lips. They’re only ten years apart, for crying out loud. This is getting ridiculous.

Misha’s still looking at the menu, wondering—not regretting, never regretting—how he goes through with these ideas of his so often, when Matt comes in. At least, he _thinks_ it’s Matt.

“Is that how fast it is to have a sex change nowadays?” Misha grins, not bothering to keep his eyes in a decent area when there’s _so much_ to see.

“I remember you asked about the cowgirl outfit,” Matt puts his hands on his hips, “And it’s become a habit for me to dress up when going for karaoke now. So it’s the best of both, right?”

The logic is not sound, but it’s funny.

Misha doesn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed that his devious plan turned out this way. Matt looks just as comfortable in those ripped jean shorts and belly top than he did in his earlier clothes. That wig is another story entirely. Misha is on the verge of laughing any second so he bites his lip instead, Matt finally plopping down next to him on the leather couch.

“What’s your poison?” Misha asks, not daring a glance at Matt the sassy cowgirl.

“Anything is fine,” Matt smiles, picking up the song list and reading through it, “I just wanna sing and dance.” He turns the page, flipping his hair dramatically, “You better have some fun this time. Don’t be all stiff like you were yesterday.”

 _That’s what she said_ , Misha thinks, thoroughly amused.

“Pushy, much? I’m the one paying you know,” Misha deadpans, knowing Matt doesn’t have a problem reading through it.

“Yes, God,” Matt teases, eyes still scanning the list. “I like shots,” he answers finally.

“Shots it is,” Misha stands, “You be a good little girl now and stay here while I get them.”

Matt types in the number of the song he wants, “Where else would I possibly go in this outfit, Misha?”

That’s a good point.

Carrying a tray of shots, Misha pushes the door open slowly in case Matt is flailing (like usually) or too close to the entrance. But his song is already over and he’s looking for another to sing. _Soon_ , Misha tells himself, soon Matt will be drunk and dancing and giddy, and he won’t notice Misha dancing a bit too close—or he will, but perhaps won’t care.

Matt’s eyes light up when he sees the amount of shots. Misha may have gotten a bit too many—twenty or so—but, hey, there’s no harm in being prepared. He doesn’t know if Matt is a heavy drinker or not.

“Oh, honey,” Matt smiles as he grabs one, “you always know just what I want.”

“You’re welcome.” Misha sits down on the couch next to Matt, grabbing a glass as well, “Cheers!”

~~~~~

After five, or six, seven shots tops, Matt is slurring and red in the face, his shorts riding up in the front and falling down in the back. Misha can’t be sure if it’s mission accomplished—he’d been fooled by others in the past, plus he’s been keeping up with young Matt—so he just watches him for a while longer, getting up to dance in a very non-threatening way every now and then. Matt hasn’t been complaining about his lack of singing, probably because of his subtle dance moves and the fact that he’s paying everything. Matt is an expensive guy to be friends with, unbeknownst to him.

Matt turns to face Misha and winks, microphone in hand, swaying his hips, trying to keep his shorts from crawling up any further. Matt’s failing though, and Misha doesn’t bother pretending he’s not trying to make the fabric disappear just by staring at it.

Misha thinks it’s a good thing Matt was born a man rather than a woman; everything about how he’s dressed, wiggling along to Aerosmith, curling a finger at Misha, just reads as slut. A _fucking perfect one_ , mind you. One you’d strategically dress up in decent clothing and bring home to your parents, lying to them, just to keep banging her brains out behind closed doors.

Misha realizes he’s probably past drunk now. Hopefully, Matt isn’t that far off.

When Matt chooses _You make me wanna_ by Usher, Misha doesn’t really pay attention—can’t with the alcohol coursing through him—until specific lyrics catch him off guard. He wonders if perhaps it’s a sign, a coincidence or a godsend.

_You make me wanna leave the one I’m with_

_And start a new relationship with you_

_This is what you do_

Misha might be blushing, might be trying to avoid eye contact, but Matt makes it completely impossible when he grabs Misha’s arm and drags him up to dance. His hips are moving—forever wiggling this one—in slow circles and Misha never considered how difficult it would be to watch at this proximity. Matt doesn’t even miss a word of the lyrics during all of that though, and Misha is certain Matt isn’t drunk enough.  Misha’s world is spinning, and only getting faster, so he grabs those hips—reflexively, it’s the truth—and just lets Matt keep him standing a bit longer. Who needs watching when you can feel, right?

_What’s sad is that I love her_

_But I’m falling for you_

_What should I do?_

Matt just keeps singing, and the lyrics are making Misha’s mind wander to odd and far-off places he didn’t even know existed in his dark, twisted version of a brain. It’s definitely not the first time he’s touched Matt, but it’s the first time they haven’t been in front of a hundred fans or in front of a photographer, and it makes Misha nervous.

Matt bends over, ignoring the fact that he basically lined up his ass with Misha’s crotch, as he grabs another shot, handing it to Misha, and taking one for himself. Multitasking must be his secret power.

The song is almost over, Misha can tell that much from the repetitive lyrics, but Matt doesn’t move away, or push Misha’s hands off his waist. He just knocks back the shot and punches in another set of numbers.

At this point, most people would wonder why Misha is so quiet, so docile, but Matt isn’t most people. Misha is awfully curious about why he isn’t worried about that, and considers asking, until the next song comes blaring on the speakers. And this one he knows. This one he really knows.

It crosses Misha’s mind that perhaps Matt is a whore deep down and only shows it when given the ultimate combination of alcohol and a microphone.

_Please me_

_And show me how it’s done_

_Tease me_

_You are the one_

With the extra shot in his body, Misha really doesn’t think he can pull his hands away from Matt’s hips so he just dances, carefully, behind him, much closer than he had planned. During the music break of the song, Matt looks over his shoulder in that ridiculously shiny wig and says, “You okay, Misha?”

“I’m fine,” Misha lies, his fingers pulling up Matt’s shorts by the loops, “I’m stronger than I look.” He doesn’t add in the _stronger than you_ part.

“I don’t doubt that,” Matt says, playful and almost challenging. He’s practically leaning in to Misha’s touch.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Misha hisses, because we all can get a bit petty when we’re drunk. Or Misha can. Alcohol has nothing to do with it in fact.

Matt laughs, finally messing up the song, and turns without warning, making Misha fall back on the sofa and pull Matt along for the bumpy landing. Misha probably shouldn’t be happy about a man in drag having his crotch in Misha’s face, but he kind of is. All he can think to do next is grab that stupid wig and throw it far away, where it can’t burn his eyes anymore.

“Better,” Misha murmurs, trying not to stare at Matt’s adorable pouting. “Want me to prove how strong I am?”

“Um,” Matt shifts and sits next to Misha, “Sure?”

“Stand up,” Misha says quickly.

“Not sure I can,” Matt chuckles, “I might have passed my limit.”

“It’s only been like—how many has it been?” Misha can’t seem to count anymore, either.

“Enough that we’re both drunk,” Matt smiles, putting the microphone on the table. “Okay, buddy, I’m gonna try to stand. Make this good.”

Matt is indeed shaky, but he manages to stand, and right in front of Misha which is a bonus because Misha doesn’t think he could actually walk more than two steps right now. Misha is standing next, the world a blur of lights from the ceiling, Matt in that tight, fantastic and horrible outfit, and _eyeliner_?

Why hadn’t Misha noticed sooner?

“Okay, don’t move,” Misha says firmly.

“Wasn’t gonna,” Matt answers, hands on his hips, sassy as ever.

Misha presses in slightly, just enough, and picks up Matt for all of five seconds. But of course they tumble to the couch again, and Matt is laughing and sweaty, and heavy, but mostly warm and tempting and fuck—

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Misha is surprised by his own accusing tone. It’s really unbecoming of a lady such as him.

“Doing what,” Matt asks, still hovering over Misha, his knee barely far enough not to rub against Misha’s jeans.

“This,” Misha gestures to the shorts, the revealing shirt, and the makeup. “It’s on purpose, isn’t it?”

“I just like having fun,” Matt answers softly. “Is it bothering you? Should I change?”

“It’s not bothering me _like that_ ,” Misha rolls his eyes, “It’s bothering me in a very different way.”

“Oh,” Matt says, and he’s smiling. No, he’s _grinning_ , the asshole. “Good.”

“What the fuck—”

Matt presses closer, making sure he’s right on Misha’s lap, and rolls his hips like so many times Misha’s seen him do tonight. The moan that creeps past Misha’s lips is loud, startling, and it makes the silence in the room that much more unwanted.

“Come back to my room,” Matt says in Misha’s ear, tonguing at his earlobe, “might be more comfortable than here.”

“How?” That’s as coherent and intelligent-sounding Misha is going to get after that show, this outfit, and now the promise of more than he expected. Misha licks his lips, finding Matt’s hips again and pushing him down on his lap.

Matt moans and all is good and equal in the world. “Fuck, Misha.” He leans his head on Misha’s shoulder. “I’ll pay for the taxi. Just, not here, please.”

“Fine,” Misha says after a moment of consideration. He does really want more of those sounds, and if it means taking the party elsewhere, then so be it.

~~~~~~

The show doesn’t really get much more private.

In the elevator, Matt is simultaneously holding up Misha with one arm, carrying his bag of tricks with the other, and kissing Misha like he’s the one who’s been fantasizing about it ever since they met. It would be a relief if he was.

Misha decides Matt needs to be taught who exactly has been alive longer. He grips Matt’s hips, rolling them in the same fashion Matt had, in the same way he always could but never wanted fans to see, but much harder and determinedly than Matt ever would.

“Fuck,” Matt curses, pulling out of the kiss, panting against Misha’s neck. “Why didn’t you do that sooner?”

“We can’t reveal all of our jewels at once,” Misha smirks, dipping his fingers in Matt’s snug jeans. “Speaking of jewels…” He finds what he’s looking for, wraps his fingers around Matt’s length, and starts stroking.

“No, no,” Matt pleads, but doesn’t stop Misha. His breath comes out in pulses of hot air onto Misha’s skin. “Fuck, I hate you right now. We’re in a goddamn elevator.”

“And?” Misha twists his wrist, dragging the pre-come up Matt’s shaft slowly. “Not explicit enough? Should I get on my knees?”

Matt’s eyes finally flutter open, breathing heavy. He crushes his lips to Misha’s, purposely trying to short circuiting Misha’s thoughts so Matt can pull the hand away, and they can pretend to be decent human beings for a short while.

The elevator dings, and Misha is still consumed by the kiss. Matt seemed to have an obsession with Jensen’s lips, but his mouth really shouldn’t be taken for granted, not with the way he could use it to his advantage. Matt all but slams Misha against the elevator wall so they can separate and step out inconspicuously.

“Misha,” Matt murmurs, putting a hand out for Misha to hold, “we’re going to my room.”

“Sex?” Misha asks promptly, grabbing Matt’s ass and squeezing. Much more meat to hold on to there.

“Depends what you mean,” Matt sighs, wiggling his hips. “And why couldn’t you grab my hand?”

“Hands are the petri dish of the human body,” Misha feigns annoyance, “I thought someone brilliant like you would know that.”

“Well, _excuse me_ , Misha,” Matt moves away, enjoying how Misha nearly falls until Matt catches him. “Be careful, there.” He grins. “You didn’t answer, by the way.”

“There was a question?” Misha clings to Matt’s arm, rubbing his bicep without shame. It’s a lot softer than you’d think. “Mine? I just said sex.”

“What do you mean by sex, Misha?” Matt is teasing, and Misha is too drunk to pick up on it.

“My cock in your ass or vice versa,” Misha hums, pressing his hips to Matt’s, “I’m not difficult with that stuff.”

“I don’t know if you realize,” Matt says seriously, “but I’ve never been with a guy. So, how ‘bout I just blow your mind with what else I can conjure up?”

“Like?” Misha is much easier to please than he’d like to let on. All he really wanted was to touch Matt’s hips, grind a bit, and watch him squirm. Getting to do more is like downloading DVD extras.

“I will figure something out involving your cock,” Misha ruts against Matt encouragingly, once again without shame. Matt smirks, but Misha doesn’t miss the lust-blown colour of his eyes as he tries to cover up his arousal. “ _Possibly_ putting my mouth on it, and using other body parts elsewhere.”

“You really know how to get a guy hot with vague descriptions,” Misha teases, kissing along Matt’s jaw as they—at long last—approach the room Matt’s staying in.

“I try,” Matt smiles, sliding his key card in the door.

Misha is, luckily, still clinging onto Matt’s arm when a voice in Matt’s room startles them both back to sobriety.

“I always knew you were very homo-erotic,” Richard says, “I just didn’t know how much.” His grin is so wide, so pleased, they don’t know whether to be afraid that he’ll tell or ask to join in. “Did you forget I lost my card and asked to stay in your room for the night?”

“Uh,” Matt answers, looking down at Misha who is just as at a loss for words, “yeah.”

“By all means, don’t let me disturb your little get together,” Richard lies back on the bed, “or were you planning to do something naughty?”

Misha is not drunk enough for a threesome. “Matt’s just dropping something off, right?” He shakes Matt’s arm, using it as a shield to hide his fading erection.

“Right,” Matt nods, slapping his forehead, “Misha offered to let me raid his mini bar. I’ll be back later.” He drops his bag with the costume in it on the floor next to the door. “See you in a couple hours.”

Or more if Misha can help it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated. <3
> 
> Lyrics from Usher's 'You make me wanna' // 'Undisclosed Desires' by Muse


End file.
